The Black Widow of Noxus
by Leon He
Summary: Eyeshadow, blush, and lipstick accented her features in ways dirt, sweat and blood could not. Garen would have missed her had it not been for the scar running down her left eye.


Until that night, Garen had never known he could waltz. His armor had become a second skin, but without it now he felt the wind beneath his soles. His sword was like a feather in his hands, but the woman in his arms felt lighter than air. The Might of Demacia was not made to dance, but he was still the best lead in the ballroom, and the most envied man in miles. Where his feet floated, every couple yielded. When his partner flew, every man paused to admire. Every three beats was a work of art, and no one challenged it.

His feet landed on the final note of the waltz without so much as a squeak. Garen set his partner down, his breath calm as water. He turned to applaud the string quartet's performance. The tresses of herskirt still catching up to the rest of the dress, Garen's partner tossed her silvered hair back into place and looked up at the Demacian. Her long eyelashes fluttered and her chest nearly struggled out of its corset as she inhaled. Garen's eyes caught her for a moment before another sight lured them away.

Why she was there, he could not guess and did not want to. The ballgown was a magnificent disguise, the deep purple modestly cut to obscure her combat-ready figure. Her fire red hair, usually flowing loose, had been tamed into a single large braid. Eyeshadow, blush, and lipstick accented her features in ways dirt, sweat and blood could not. Garen would have missed her had it not been for the scar running down her left eye.

"Kat, I had no idea Noxians were invited to this ball," Garen said, holding back a sneer. He brushed off his navy longcoat and adjusted his pearly white shirt.

"My father can get me into any festivity I want," she spat, her voice gruff as always. "And that's Lady Katarina for tonight." Garen stood silent, split between laughter and shock. He could hear her foot tapping beneath her skirt. "Don't you have something to ask me? You've impressed all the fools in here." She seized Garen's hand. "Now it's time to impress me." The pair was off.

Garen could see Katarina lacked any formal dance training. Her foot was ahead of his half the time, like she was fighting to take lead. When he pulled her one way, she reacted by tugging the other. Yet when Garen turned to the outside, she was there with him exactly in time. His arms twisted to spin her, and she twirled with grace he only witnessed on the battlefield. For measures, they went back and forth, alternating between antagonizing and complementing each other. Then the musicians came to life and the tempo doubled. Garen could see her scar twist, Katarina's eyes smiling.

"This one was made for us," she said, wicked grin never retreating.

Garen's feet had no time to consult him, racing to match the tempo. He surrendered to instinct and drew his attentions to his partner instead. His facial expression cold as stone, he studied her. As straight with focus as his lips were, her lips curled with an equal amount of mischief. His eyes were determined to conquer her, while hers toyed with him. But for all he could see, Katarina's mind was not on her feet either. She was as engrossed in him as he was her.

And then they spun. Katarina had pulled on him as he did her, and they twirled in opposite directions. Both of them were on the toes of their shoes, like the finest Demacian dancers. Their clothes flashed in the light of the chandeliers as coattails and skirt flared to the ceiling. All the other dancers became spectators. They whispered about Noxus and Demacia, about The Might and The Black Widow, about how war and dance could be so similar. Most of all, they whispered in envy, as such magnificent dancing would never be seen again.

The Demacian slowed to a stop first, fell to a knee, and held out his arms. A single beat later, Lady Katarina stood still on a single toe, arms poised above her head. On the next beat she fell into her partner's arms, her emerald eyes staring into the endless skies of his pupils. Garen rose, standing the lady up with him. In the same motion, his hand stole a swipe at her face, brushing a stray hair away from her scarred eye. For a moment, he thought he caught her smile widening, but he may have imagined it. Or she may have retained control.

Displeasantries were exchanged before Kat sauntered away, her skirt effortlessly gliding across the floor. As she exited beneath the marble archway, she turned and called to Garen once more. The Might of Demacia spotted a projectile darting for his heart, but his instincts dampened, he caught it instead of dodging. Feeling a sting in his hand, Garen looked down to discover thorns buried in his palm, blood trickling down his sleeve. Those rose was black, save for the center petals which were the same red as her hair.

Garen clutched it to his heart, breathless.

A/N: In retrospect, this piece was apparently inspired by Closer by Ne-Yo (best version would be Stonebridge Remix Radio Edit). I didn't mean for it to be, but the more I review the lyrics the more it make sense.


End file.
